


Fucked by Fear: The End

by comic_books_and_bars, Ptarantula



Series: Fucked by Fear [6]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Canon Asexual Character, Cervical Penetration, Dead Dove: Do No Eat, Do Not Archive, Dream Sex, Eye Horror, Eye Sex, Oliver has no idea what’s going on, Oral Sex, Other, Tentacles, The End wants to know why Jon won't die, Trans Character, Transgender Author, Vaginal Sex, asexual author, did we mention EYE HORROR, female terminology for transmale genitalia, mention of worms, no one has organs in a dream, the inside parts are confusing, trans!Jon, you’ve been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comic_books_and_bars/pseuds/comic_books_and_bars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptarantula/pseuds/Ptarantula
Summary: The End wants to know why Jon won't die and will happily use it's tentacles to investigate.***The mass seemed to regard him as a curiosity, reverently holding him up for better inspection. No matter how he struggled, the cold tendrils held him fast in place. The man was talking and Jon was listening even as he struggled to find a way out of their hold.“...And I do kind of know you…? Haven’t had much choice, really. Dreams are like that, you know. No matter how lucid you think they are, there’s always that part that just drags you along.Guess I don’t need to tell you that. At least, not right now.”Had Jon had a mouth, he’d have snorted.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/The End
Series: Fucked by Fear [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678831
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	Fucked by Fear: The End

**Author's Note:**

> <3 ... PLEASE READ THE TAGS ... <3

Jon was not aware of his physical body and he did not often hear what happened around it. Nurses and doctors came and went, friends visited often enough, but he really only _heard_ when he was directly addressed.

Still, he could easily tell when this visitor approached from the hall. He knew that something more powerful was coming when the man opened the door to his hospital room.

He knew this, because his dreamscape had shifted. Even as he was lifted into the heart of the eye, he knew that he would not awaken in the familiar dissection room. He awakened, instead, below the massive eye again and it stared down at him - bloodshot, unblinking, and... expectant.

By the time the man had taken a seat at Jon’s bedside, he felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time: temperature. He was cold. His many eyes dried and watered in the frigid air. They stubbornly refused to blink, though.

By the time that the man began to speak, directly to Jon, something icy had erupted from the ground and wrapped around his ankle in a vice grip.

The ground around him began to undulate, dirt crumbling away to reveal thick, inky black tendrils. Each pulsated in turn, slick bodies pressing upwards against him, lifting his limbs and torso inquisitively. 

The grip on his ankle turned soft as the first tentacle circled up his leg, secreting a gelatinous black ooze as it went, blocking out several eyes. It felt like half melted soft serve as it dripped over him.

The mass seemed to regard him as a curiosity, reverently holding him up for better inspection. No matter how he struggled, the cold tendrils held him fast in place. The man was talking and Jon was listening even as he struggled to find a way out of their hold.

“...And I do kind of know you…? Haven’t had much choice, really. Dreams are like that, you know. No matter how lucid you think they are, there’s always that part that just drags you along.

Guess I don’t need to tell you that. At least, not right now.”

Had Jon had a mouth, he’d have snorted.

The tendrils pulsed with excitement as the tentacle reached its goal. This creature wished to study him, to learn everything about his odd, eye-pocked body - inside and out - and it wasted no time.

The thing breached his body, a shock of cold against his wet heat. It probed him, thoroughly mapping and filling the recesses of his cunt. It wrapped close around the tight pucker of his cervix, squeezing and massaging it.

Jon, not for the first or even tenth time, dearly wished for the ability to scream. It was cold enough that his non-flesh felt burned where it was lovingly inspected. Other tentacles explored his body, particularly his eyes. Their slender tips rubbed over the unblinking things, testing their solidity with a prod here and there.

The man had finally introduced himself: Oliver Banks or Antonio Blake or... Jon couldn’t think. He could only listen and experience under the oppressive force of the eye.

The tentacle in his cunt stilled, content to hold him open with its bulk for the moment. Cold radiated from its mass, leeching and consuming any heat that it found. It was freezing him from the inside out.

The eyes bracketing his genitals began to ice over as the cold solidified their corneas, turning them brittle. Unable or unwilling to blink closed, the membranes were easily shattered by inquisitive tendrils keen to dive in. His view was obscured by blackness as he endured the up-close and _deeply_ personal encounter.

Jon was surprised by the quality of the pain - far off and muted but with the sharp bite of urgency. Fight, flight or freeze - he didn’t have a choice, really. He was going to freeze. But more than painful, it was overwhelming - the sharp break, the absurd visual input, and the sickly turning feeling in his gut from being gouged.

Even as his insides froze, more appendages grew up around him. A too thick, rootlike tentacle began to smear curiously over his face. It’s touch froze and shattered several tiny eyes and Jon had to fight the growing panic when it brushed his primaries. They survived, though, and the thing wriggled lower to insist on a mouth.

Distantly, he heard Oliver speaking again.

“...Every night I watch as they sneak up and into throats about to choke on blood, or lurch into hearts about to convulse. I’ve come to terms with it...”

Jon didn’t have time to feel his gut lurch before a hole ripped open in the void that should be lips and the thing began to explore his newly formed mouth.

Still, he was not permitted to scream.

The tentacle eagerly slid its tip over and under his tongue in a disturbing dance, like a terrible secondary school make out. It was sloppy, if excruciatingly thorough, as it stroked every surface of his mouth. It paid several seconds of attention to each tooth, eliciting a painful buzzing sensation when the roots began to succumb to the cold.

Once satisfied with its assessment of his mouth it made a slow approach towards the top of his throat. It curved downwards, keeping flat to his tongue, and gently began its descent into the tight passage.

In this world, he barely had any true physical form and that translated into the one he did have being... less than accurately put together. He had no gag reflex to offer resistance as his newly formed throat stretched painfully to accommodate the writhing, black mass.

It seemed as if he only had the parts of his body that he knew well and could remember in detail - teeth, tongue, cunt, and so, so many eyes. The confusing inside bits of him were oversimplified and dysfunctional. When was the last time he’d had to digest or breath, anyway?

This seemed to displease the tentacle plunging down his throat and it flailed its confusion and annoyance inside of him. At the same time, stinging pain surged through his teeth up into his sinuses. It wasn’t dreamlike, hazy pain anymore - this fucking hurt.

Jon manifested vocal chords just to scream his agony around the choking thing stretching down into his half-formed belly. Every eye he still possessed watered profusely in protest.

Oliver was talking about touching the things now - finding one on the street after a dream and reaching out to it. Jon couldn’t say how he was still paying attention, but he was coming to accept that that was just his lot in life now.

“Still… this was like ice. No - colder than ice. The sort of cold that just cuts right through you.”

Jon whimpered.

Coiling and unfurling, the tentacle gradually put pressure on his stomach. It drew patterns on the inside with its tip and, if Jon had been able to see his own stomach, he could have seen a bump moving against his thin flesh and the shattered corneas of his many eye sockets.

At the same time, a third curious tentacle began to press experimentally into his arse. It was slow going and rough if only because the cold made everything seize up. Horror dawned on him as he realized that the tentacles intended to meet in the middle.

Jon jerked against the intrusions, attempting to fight the tentacles off. Regardless, they just held him steady in the air and continued to patiently probe him.

The first tentacle, still coiled contentedly inside his cunt, appeared to take exception to the third tentacle’s anal spelunking as it put pressure on the back wall of its cosy resting spot. It shifted indignantly but did, eventually, uncoil enough to slip part way out and free up some additional space.

The entire time, the tip remained in firm possession of his cervix - which resulted in a tugging and pushing sensation as it squirmed to get comfortable again.

The anal tentacle shoved itself past the internal sphincter and into the colon. Past that was the confused void where Jon ought to have organs and it easily met with its twin. The two tentacles performed an odd sort of ritual in which they each picked a side of his inner nothingness and canvassed the nebulous terrain. 

The throat tentacle reached further down towards the pit where his reproductive organs should be, if he had thought enough to manifest them. Which, he had not. Jon paid them no mind in his day to day life, so there was no reason he should in his dreams either. It circled the inner opening of his cervix, testing the muscle with pointed jabs.

A different pain seized his body. Parts of him that did not exist contorted and cramped, forcing him to recall bodily functions and organs long since rendered inert by the miracle of testosterone.

Jon could no more scream around the thick body of the tentacle than he could keep it from its goal. With great difficulty, he reached arms out in an ineffectual attempt to grasp the tentacle and pull it from his body. He was able to get a grip on the mass and even to pull a little, but it did him no good. Deep as it was, pulling on it only made him feel as if he would rupture something.

The tentacle sedately resting in his cunt wriggled to life again as it sought out the other prodding thing. The twisting and squirming hit every sensitive spot he had - jabbing the front wall and squeezing the back one. That wasn’t even mentioning the torture his cervix was made to endure.

Other, smaller tendrils began to canvas his arms and dragged them back behind him where they couldn’t interfere any longer. His legs were, likewise, captured. Helpless to move, he could only hang there and attempt to weather the abuse.

He couldn’t tell how long he hung there, being filled and explored. He could do nothing but watch and be watched. The pain was becoming a dull ache and he welcomed any respite from the torture.

Around him in the dreamscape Oliver’s words echoed, “Time is like that, isn’t it? Just keeps going, no matter what happens, it just carries on, and it strips everything away from you in the end, the good and the bad alike, until there is nothing left of either.

“This too shall pass. All good things must come to an end. _Memento mori_.”

_How appropriate_. 

Jon writhed and the tendrils holding him squeezed harshly, shattering every eye they touched. Other small feelers dug into the shattered things and flung them to the ground with ruthless disregard - moving afterwards to explore every empty hole left behind.

Jon had hoped that the cold might numb him, but he was disgusted to find himself feeling every probing tendril in every single eye socket. He was reminded of being burrowed into by worms, the way his flesh had been violated by tiny, wriggling things.

It was all the worse that he still felt pleasure where his insides were pressed and jabbed. He felt a spiteful joy at cataloguing every sensation and enduring the torment.

The appendages attempting to open his cervix finally managed to split him and meet in the middle. They coiled around one another in a mockery of handholding while Jon fought to scream again. The pain was singular - something he somehow knew no other being had experienced, and... he _didn’t_ hate it.

The throat tentacle welcomed the cunt tentacle into the void with a firm tug, forcing the cervical muscles to expand and accept its chilly girth. 

All three now inside him they each began to move, thrusting and rubbing against one another. Each thrust was a small outward tug and a deep inward push, filling him more with every movement. 

His midsection was filled as the writhing mass inside him distended his stomach, giving him a curious vision of what he might look like pregnant. If he were pregnant with an ornery, roiling tentacle monster, but pregnant nonetheless.

His cervix stretched to breaking but held fast and squeezed down hard on the intruders in disapproval. The pain wasn’t the worst of it. The worst part of it all was the sensation of being too full, too stretched, too close to splitting open and spilling out everywhere.

Jon had only two choices in that moment. He could stay still and take this passively, or he could chase his own pleasure to offset the horrible pain and wrongness.

It was an easy choice. Using the places where the ropey, black things held him aloft, he began to rock his body into their steady thrusts. The first jolt made his stomach feel fit to bursting as the mass inside him overshot its mark. The few eyes left along his torso popped free only to shatter on the ground below him.

One eye hung stubbornly in his navel, refusing to shatter or escape. Miraculously, it was unfrozen and could still see the squirming mass that explored his every empty socket.

Jon felt as if he could cry for the first time in... ages. His primaries watered but did not drip down his cheeks.

His squirming caused the tentacles in him to still in confusion. It was as if he wanted them further inside of him, and this was a new experience for them. No one had reacted this way to their invasion before and it was refreshing, honestly.

There again, no one had survived this long before.

Never one to deny a welcoming vessel, the tentacles writhed and thrust enthusiastically into him. The mass in his midsection grew ever larger. The eye over his navel stretched and squinted, trying to hold its position, but it was being steadily pushed further out.

“The thing is, John, right now you have a choice. You’ve put it off a long time, but it’s trapping you here. You’re not quite human enough to die, but still too human to survive. You’re balanced on an edge where the End can’t touch you, but you can’t escape him.

I made a choice. We all made choices. Now you have to -“

_Oh_.

_Was that all?_

He wished that Oliver had gotten to the point sooner if he were honest.

As Jon’s remaining primaries rolled into the back of his head and the pressure built to an explosion within him - he didn’t hesitate to choose.

There were more voices that he was aware of, an argument, a clock ticking away. 

None of it mattered, because the things inside of him were loath to relinquish their hold. They stuffed more and more into him, stretching his already distended belly to absurd proportions.

The last of the eyes, the one tucked into his navel, shot out of him. A slender tip of black tentacle poked curiously out of the hole it left behind even as his cervix cramped around more and more girth and he could feel that he was ripping apart from the inside out.

He only managed to clench his primary eyes shut when his orgasm hit him and, at first, he didn’t know if he was cumming or actually exploding under the unbearable pressure.

Perhaps he had decided too late?

But then, for the first time in months, he gasped.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! You made it to the end! We hope you enjoyed it. <3
> 
> Please leave us a comment and let us know what you think. We really appreciate you taking the time to gift us with your words. We cherish each and every one!
> 
> Up Next: The Slaughter
> 
> About Us: We're a queer couple and we write _really_ fucked up shit sometimes.


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